


(With My Body) I Thee Worship

by xfphile



Category: Signed Sealed Delivered (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Humor, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfphile/pseuds/xfphile
Summary: Because . . . after everything, all the waiting and wanting and knowing they couldn’t, and then knowing they shouldn’t, all Oliver could think about was the fact that now they **could**.
Relationships: Shane McInerney/Oliver O'Toole
Kudos: 8





	(With My Body) I Thee Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Ye Olde Author's Note: So, apparently, when I find a new fandom with an OTP that I actually 'ship, it is a rite (write?) of passage for me to write smut. Therefore, I present to you The Wedding Night. I hope you enjoy it and leave a comment if you're so inclined; I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> And yes, this is rated 'E' on purpose.

**_ (With My Body) I Thee Worship _ **

_I now pronounce you husband and wife._

Oliver O’Toole paused before he got out of his car, the minister’s words ringing in his ear with a sudden reality that was breathtaking.

After everything they had endured — his former wife, her former boyfriend, the frequent (and slightly ridiculous, upon occasion) miscommunications, the utter ludicrousness of that benighted Valentine’s Day fiasco (which _still_ made him cringe when he thought about it), him being lost on a mountain (see the aforementioned ‘slightly ridiculous’), her 3-month absence, planned and executed by the old boyfriend in question (again, slightly ridiculous, in retrospect), and all of that _before_ the seemingly interminable between ‘engagement’ and ‘wedding’ — God had given him his greatest wish.

Shane McInerney was his wife.

And he, Oliver O’Toole, was her husband.

And now that everything was over and done — rehearsal, pictures ( _dear Lord_ , the never-ending stream of photographs), wedding, reception, and the drive that managed to both take forever and last the blink of an eye — they were here, at Shane’s home (a final farewell, she called it), for their wedding night.

Their wedding night.

Just the thought made Oliver swallow.

Hard.

But not for the reasons one might expect.

Because . . . after everything, all the waiting and wanting and knowing they couldn’t, and then knowing they shouldn’t, all Oliver could think about was the fact that now they _could._

He was her husband and she was his wife and they were _finally_ free to give themselves completely to each other in love and the bonds of marriage.

And Oliver knew that he should be nervous about it, knew that he should feel anxious and worried about overwhelming her with the full force of his passion, his desire, for her, but their journey had been so long and so fraught that more than once, he had despaired of ever getting to be with her (also more than once, he had strongly considered simply eloping), but they had persevered and were finally married and he knew he shouldn’t but he _wanted_.

He wanted to take her, claim her, and finally soothe that soul-deep ache with the knowledge that she was truly his in mind, body, and heart.

And he was desperate to give himself to her.

Her soft laugh vaguely registered, but her hand on his cheek caught his attention and Oliver turned to Shane, his eyes wide in surprise and . . . lust . . . as he was hit again with the realization that he could touch her now.

That small stab of guilt at his lust evaporated when he saw the same _want_ in his wife’s eyes that he himself was drowning in and he swallowed again.

“It’s time, Oliver,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to his lips for a few seconds and making his heart pound even harder in anticipation. “And, husband—”

That word coming from her lips overwhelmed him and Oliver groaned, lunging forward to take her mouth in a ravenous kiss and cradling her face in his hands. Her immediate response, uninhibited and matching his passion, pushed him to the brink so quickly that he actually forgot they were still in the car . . . until the gearshift rudely reminded him.

With a reluctance born of necessity, Oliver gentled the kiss enough that he could pull away and looked at his wife — _his wife_ — fighting hard to slow his breathing and observing (with a great deal of satisfaction) her struggle to do the same.

“Inside, Oliver,” she suddenly said, her eyes blazing with desire. “Now.”

Now.

Yes.

Now.

He nearly stumbled in his haste to climb out of the car and didn’t even care that Shane got out herself instead of waiting for him to get her door. He did, however, want to observe one final wedding tradition, so he gave her the boyish grin he knew she loved and swept her up in his arms, relishing in her delighted laugh as he carried her up the stairs and to the door . . . only to be stymied by the fact that he didn’t have his key at hand and so couldn’t open it. With his chagrin clearly showing on his face, Oliver wasn’t remotely surprised at her giggle, and after a soft kiss to his cheek, she produced a key from somewhere (he refused to think about where) and a moment later, the door was open and he was carefully stepping over the threshold with his new wife in his arms.

Wife.

He pulled her into his embrace even as he set her down, absently closing the door, and for a while, they simply held each other and basked in the moment.

But then she brushed her lips against his neck as she shifted against him and Oliver’s restraint was suddenly a great deal less restrained. He held back a groan by sheer force of will, only to stop breathing when Shane took a single step back, caught his face in her hands, and said, “Oliver, I . . .”

Her voice was serious and Oliver went still, searching her eyes.

“What is it?” he finally asked when she didn’t continue after several seconds.

She bit her lip, making his heart pound, before taking his hands and slowly drawing them around her until he held her in a full-body embrace, with every inch of them plastered against the other, and her hands were curled around his shoulders, her fingers lightly caressing him. The sensation caused fire to spark along his nerve endings and his control eroded further.

“Do you remember the night I told you that you had _carte blanche_ to touch me?” she whispered in his ear, the sensation making him shiver even as the memory had him forcing back a growl. Oh, _that_ had been a night!

“Yes,” he rasped, his hands somehow managing to pull her even closer as he dropped his head to her neck and placed a single, hot kiss against the spot that always made her moan.

He was not disappointed.

“Good,” she breathed, her voice a little shaky. “I want you to keep that in mind, Oliver, because I want you to have me however you like, and I want the same.”

She wasn’t—

Oh, but she was!

And how he had forgotten that Shane McInerney had no fear, Oliver could not fathom, but the knowledge sent his desire spiking even higher and this time he was unable to hold back his growl. He wanted her, she wanted him, and they no longer needed to stop themselves.

So they didn’t.

With a deep-throated moan, Shane kissed him hungrily, sliding her fingers into his hair to hold him still while she plundered his mouth and arched into his touch when he splayed his fingers across her back, wanting to imprint the feel of her under his hands on his memory for the rest of his life.

When he carefully slid one hand over the curve of her glorious derrière, she gasped against his lips and pressed herself more firmly against his palm, kissing him even harder as she coaxed his tongue to play with hers.

To be honest, it was a very short conversation.

As gorgeous as she looked in her wedding finery, Oliver needed to see and feel _her_ , so he easily lifted her into a bridal (ha!) carry and made his way to her bedroom, smiling into their kiss at her startled ‘mmpf!’ of surprised approval. His plans of unwrapping her like the gift she was were derailed (and _why_ was he surprised by this?) when Shane broke the kiss and wriggled until he set her down, breathing heavily and wanting her so badly he was shaking.

“Oh, no, Mr. O’Toole,” she purred, catching his hands as he reached for her.

No?

Before he could process that (and panic), she gave him a once-over that made him swallow; her gaze was hot and possessive, and he paused for a second, taking in the new and very welcome sensation of being wanted, desired, by a woman who understood him.

The woman who _loved_ him, and had pledged her life to his.

He tried again to reach for her, but she tightened her grip and gave him the teasing, sexy smile that never failed to get to get his blood racing.

It didn’t fail now, though he didn’t need any help in that regard.

“I have been itching to peel you out of a tuxedo for _two years_ , Oliver,” she purred, stroking her fingers across the backs of his hands and making his breath catch at the sensation.

Then her words caught up with him and he blinked.

Tuxedo?

Two years?

“I—” he began, not entirely sure what to say, but Shane rendered his question unnecessary, releasing his hands and immediately starting to unbutton the jacket.

“Ever since that first Christmas ball we went to, when you were so possessive and jealous and it shouldn’t have been but it was _hot_ ,” she told him, her fingers caressing his stomach as she pushed the lapels apart. Stunned at this revelation, Oliver held himself still and watched with wide eyes as his wife (his wife!) made sure she touched every inch of his upper torso while carefully removing the tailored black fabric. “Shoes off,” she whispered in his ear before giving the lobe a soft nip that made him shudder in delight. He obeyed, smiling softly when she coordinated her movements with his as she worked his jacket off his arms and tossed it over the nearby desk.

That done, she turned her attention to his bowtie and nearly caused him to have a coronary when she caught one end in her teeth and, her eyes locked on his, unraveled the perfectly tied knot with one firm tug.

Oh.

Dear.

Lord.

Before he could do anything but suck in a sharp breath at her brazen seduction, she was sliding his suspenders off his shoulders (well, she was running her hands all over his chest, shoulders, and arms; the suspenders just happened to be in her way), and once he was down to shirt and trousers, she kissed him, tender now instead of hungry, and then pulled away yet again. He couldn’t hold back a whimper at the loss of her mouth, but when she winked at him and brought his right hand to her lips, lightly skating them over his pulse point before working on removing the cufflink, he groaned softly and closed his eyes, allowing himself to simply enjoy the experience of ( _finally_ ) being seduced by Shane McInerney O’Toole.

Opening his eyes, Oliver fixed his gaze on her and watched in awe, his desire flaring ever higher, as she opened and removed his shirt and undershirt, mapping his chest and abdomen with her hands and lips. Her obvious enjoyment of touching and exploring him was more potent than any aphrodisiac and he relaxed into it, reveling in the wonder that was Shane making love to him, her fingers deft and sure, and steadily feeding his arousal.

Then she licked his nipple and he nearly combusted on the spot.

“You are playing with fire, Ms. McInerney,” he rasped, summoning all of his considerable willpower to stop himself from just tossing her on the bed and taking her right then.

“I know,” she replied with a wicked smile, gently scraping her nails across the same nipple. He twitched in response, unable to stop his reaction, and her smile widened. She did it again, but soothed that little sting by licking it before meeting his eyes once more.

“Oliver,” she whispered, catching his hand with her free one and twining their fingers. “This — tonight—” she continued, her voice husky with desire. “It’s going to be hot, my love,” she murmured, releasing his hand so she could run her fingers up the sensitive skin of his inner arm, and startling him by suddenly giggling softly. “Oliver, it’s us,” she told him, mirth dancing in her eyes. “With our luck, we’ll burn the house down — and that is exactly what I want tonight,” she stated, twining their fingers again and stepping into him so closely that Oliver doubted a standard envelope would fit between them.

He had no issue whatsoever with this.

“It’s going to be explosive and amazing and fast, and that’s — I don’t want you to worry about disappointing me. And I _don’t_ want you to kill yourself trying to hold back,” she finished, giving him another tender smile.

As he had been concerned about that very thing, Oliver simply took a few seconds to process this.

Wait. She—

“We have three weeks — Oliver, we have the rest of our _lives_ — to explore each other,” she said, releasing his hand so she could play with the hair at the nape of his neck (one of their collective favorite things), giving him a gentle look that was still simmering with passion. “And I swear to you that I cannot _wait_ for you to turn that meticulous attention to detail on me . . .”

Hearing his greatest fantasy in _her_ voice threatened to topple him over the edge and he caught his breath, fighting to keep himself still.

“And I promise you that I have plans for you, Mr. O’Toole, starting with that ugly green tie,” she added with an impish wink that made him laugh softly, even as his curiosity was piqued.

God, he loved her.

“So just let yourself enjoy this, and me,” she finished quietly, sincerely, the love in her eyes searing him to the depths of his soul.

He wordlessly pulled her mouth to his, kissing her with the passion of a man pushed to the absolute edge of his control.

She accepted his dominance and gave it right back to him, twining her tongue with his and keeping him from touching her with anything but his mouth. He groaned in thwarted desire, aching to have her, and she smiled against his lips before pulling back and nuzzling his neck.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her hot breath making him shudder again. He needed to touch her, taste her, make love to her, more than he needed to breathe, but he understood. As well as Shane knew him, so too did he know her, and they both knew that once he touched her the way he — they — wanted, there was nothing on earth that would stop him. And she wanted — and deserved — her time first, because God above knew that she had not been remotely shy about her appreciation of his touch . . . and his body.

With a soft groan of surrender, Oliver brushed his lips lightly over hers as he met her eyes, keeping his hands at his sides and wordlessly encouraging her to do as she would. She smiled and kissed him again, nipping softly at his bottom lip as she pulled away and held his gaze, her eyes bright with love, lust, and sheer joy as her hands fell to his waist. She never looked away as she unbuckled the belt and opened his trousers, her smile fading into a serious expression as she gently eased the material off his hips and he stepped out of the crumpled pile of fabric, his hands settling on her waist as she bit her lip and looked her fill, her gaze leaving trails of fire in its wake as she took in every inch of his body. Torn between pride and nerves, Oliver could only watch and wait, until she finally tilted her head back and met his eyes, saying nothing but parting her lips in a blatant invitation for his kiss.

His control shredded still further at the sight of her, disheveled from his touch and kisses, and flushed with arousal from looking at and touching _him_ , but he summoned his control and bent to place a soft, tender kiss to her lips before straightening and letting his hands fall to his sides. His wife was many, many things, but ‘shy’ was not one of them. She would let him know when she wanted him to touch her.

That said, he sent up a heartfelt prayer that ‘when’ was ‘soon.’

Very soon.

‘Immediately’ would be nice.

The feel of her hands gliding down his chest, caressing and stroking, brought his focus sharply back to her and he sucked in a sharp breath, unable to hold back a sudden spike of nerves as her fingers played with the waistband of his underwear. He refused to allow thoughts of Shane with that . . . that . . . Steve . . . but he would reluctantly admit that the man’s physique was impressive, and he couldn’t help but feel that he might not . . . measure up. What if—

“Oh!” he gasped when her fingers curled around him through the soft cotton, exploring and learning his shape. Oh, that felt so _good_ and he moaned, unable to keep himself from pushing his hips forward, seeking a firmer touch. With what little cognizant thought he had left, Oliver was torn, both wanting the constricting fabric _gone_ and yet grateful for its presence, because it was the only thing keeping him under control.

“Shane!” he choked out when she suddenly slipped her hand into his briefs and wrapped her fingers around him, her touch scorching his flesh and nearly obliterating the last vestiges of his restraint.

She kissed him, wantonly and passionately, as she rubbed her thumb over the head, smearing the wetness she found and tearing a moan from deep in his chest.

She had to stop.

Now.

Or he was going to be lost.

“Shane . . .” he breathed, his hands clamping onto her hips while he sucked in a deep, harsh breath in a desperate attempt to hold himself back.

She gave him a brilliant smile and one last squeeze before she released him and eased her hand free, making him whimper again at the loss of her touch.

Curling a hand around his neck, she drew his forehead down to hers and they stood there for a moment, just breathing softly in the space between heartbeats.

“You’re beautiful, Oliver. And all mine,” she whispered, sliding her hand down until it rested over his heart, which beat now only for her. Overcome with emotion, he was unable to speak, so he simply kissed her, letting his lips convey his feelings.

Then she eased back enough to take his left hand in hers, placing a soft, reverent kiss to his wedding ring, and drew it to her neck, where his curious fingers immediately felt the cool metal of a zipper.

He went very still as understanding washed over him.

And then he lunged forward, taking her mouth with voracious hunger, and buried his fingers in her hair, destroying the elegant chignon as he kissed her until neither of them could breathe.

When he could stand it no longer, Oliver brought his hands back to the zipper and slowly began to ease it down even as he mouthed kisses along her throat, smiling at the choked moan she gave him. When the dress was finally unzipped, he reluctantly removed his mouth from her skin and stepped back, capturing her eyes in a hot, intense gaze as he carefully worked the sleeves over her arms. As soon that was done, Shane gave him a sultry smile and lifted her hands to his shoulders, allowing Oliver unfettered access to her.

Just the thought was enough to send him over the edge, but he clamped down on his desire. He had no intention of trying to slow things down — his wife was entirely correct about _that_ — but he wasn’t some Neanderthal, ripping and grunting and smashing his way through.

Well, all right. Grunting was probably going to happen, because Oliver O’Toole could truthfully say that he was incapable of coherent speech. And as he eased the fabric of Shane’s wedding dress down, his eyes greedily taking in the new and much-longed-for sight of _her_ . . .

Oh, my goodness.

She was breathtaking. She was more beautiful than he had ever dared to imagine.

And She. Was. His.

He held on to the shattered remnants of his control by sheer force of will and skated his hands up her body, lightly skimming them over her ribs and smiling softly when she squirmed, apparently ticklish there (this was information he would definitely put to good use. Later. Much later.), drinking her in through touch like he was a blind man reading Braille. Her soft moans of approval and appreciation only stoked the flames of his desire, and when he finally reached her magnificent breasts, there was no hesitation before he curved his fingers around them, masculine satisfaction rushing through him when she gasped and covered his hands with hers, wordlessly encouraging him explore.

He was drowning in lust now but managed enough coordination to fumble open the front clasp of her bra, needing to see her bared to his ravenous gaze. She caught and held his eyes, smiling softly as he reverently slid the satin off her shoulders, and at the soft _thump_ of the bra hitting the floor, she took a step back and held both arms out to her sides, proudly displaying herself for him.

And Oliver O’Toole finally reached his limit.

With an actual growl of raw, unrestrained lust, he yanked Shane into his arms and kissed her savagely, his tongue sweeping between her lips and twining with hers while his hands ran feverishly over her body, desperate to feel as much of her as he could. Shane matched him passion for passion, her own hands gripping his buttocks and pulling him against her with unmistakable intent, and he moaned at the delicious feel of his aching erection rubbing against her. She echoed his moan and grabbed his left hand, bringing it to the soft skin of her stomach and then sliding it down. It took his desire-fogged brain a second to realize what she wanted, but once he did, he tore his mouth away to settle his forehead against hers, breathing raggedly as he watched himself push his hand into the lacy blue panties she wore, his fingers slipping through the wet heat waiting for him.

Oh, my goodness.

Shane was . . . oh, she was so hot.

And she was . . . she was wet.

_Incredibly_ wet.

For him.

The final thread of his restraint was incinerated from the overwhelming rush of his desire and Oliver moaned, dropping to his knees and working the damp fabric off her hips and down those gorgeous legs until she was able to step free of them. For a timeless moment they looked at each other, Oliver kneeling at her feet like the supplicant he was, and just drank each other in. But the sight of her, completely open to his gaze and so obviously wanting him, had him surging to his feet in one swift move, claiming her mouth as he backed her to the bed. She kissed him just as hungrily but when her legs hit the mattress, she pulled away from his lips and pushed him back a step, her eyes blazing with desire as she grabbed the waistband of his underwear and carefully eased the black fabric down his thighs before letting gravity do the rest.

When he stood naked before her, nervous but unafraid and unashamed, she licked her lips and dropped her gaze to where he was hard and aching for her, her hand following her eyes and curving around him possessively.

He sucked in a short, sharp breath and she looked up, her eyes a blue inferno now.

“You are gorgeous, Oliver,” she rasped, her voice thick with lust. “And you are mine.”

Hers.

“Yes,” he managed to reply, gently pulling her hand away from him in a desperate attempt to regain a smidgeon of control and twining their fingers.

“Yes,” he murmured again, dropping his forehead to hers once more and just breathing her in. “Yours, Shane. Always.”

“Always,” she whispered back before biting his lower lip and catching his surprised gasp in her mouth.

And the tender moment ignited.

Wrapping both arms around her, Oliver lifted her enough to toss her on the bed, not even taking a moment to look at her before following her down, covering her body with his and simply relishing the sublime feel of his body against hers while marveling that very, very soon, she would wholly be his and he would finally give all of himself to her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she tilted her head and bared her throat, wordlessly begging for his touch, and with a wicked smile of his own, he obliged, planting moist kisses all across her neck and clavicle. She was moaning and writhing beneath him, panting his name, and when he slid a finger into the hot depths of her body, she bit his shoulder to muffle her scream. He was unable to control his own reaction at realizing just how ready for him she was, wanting to taste her so badly his mouth was aching for it but knowing he simply did not possess the patience (or the self-control) right now, and shifted so he could rub himself against her thigh because he wanted to. Because he needed to.

Oh, she felt so _good_.

And he could wait no longer.

His entire being protested when he stopped touching her and shifted so he was on his knees and sitting back on his heels as he met her eyes, hot with passion and nearly black from arousal. His were much the same, he imagined, and also a little crazy, for she had had that effect on him almost literally from the moment they had met.

“It’s — I can’t wait any longer, Shane,” he told her, skimming a hand down her stomach because he had to touch her or lose his mind from the lack. She moaned again and arched into his touch, curving one leg around his hip. Her wanton sensuality nearly finished him on the spot and he growled in response, grabbing her calf to keep her still and refusing to relinquish her gaze when he lifted her leg and turned to place a hot kiss to her ankle before gently biting down. Her shocked gasp made him smirk and he did it again, moving to her knee and feeling his blood heat even more when she licked her lips in response.

Then she utterly shocked him by dropping her leg and suddenly pushing herself upright until she was sitting in front of him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her mouth devouring his. Helpless to resist the onslaught, Oliver splayed his hands across her back and held her to him as though he was drowning and she was his lifeboat, and they kissed each other breathless.

When they finally quit kissing, it was to take deep, shuddering breaths, forehead to forehead, and then she whispered, “Then have me . . . husband.”

Before he could do _anything —_ including think — she moved again until she was kneeling in front of him. Puzzled and very, very aroused, he watched, his hands going to her hips to help steady her as she carefully shifted until her back was resting against the headboard and she was sitting up on her knees.

“Like this, Oliver,” she whispered, catching his hand and moving it down to his throbbing erection, helping guide him to her. His breath exploded in a rush of dizzying arousal as he understood what she wanted and he kissed her fiercely, loving her even more for giving him — for giving _them_ — this.

A first joining of equals, as they took each other.

“I love you, Shane,” he told her, his voice shaking from the sheer force of his emotions, and her eyes filled with tears even as she gave him a brilliant smile.

“I know,” she choked out. “And I love you, Oliver. So very much.”

And he pushed up as she sank down, both of them moaning as they finally became one, foreheads touching and their breath mingling as they paused to take in the fact that they were finally, completely, husband and wife.

Then she lifted herself up a little before dropping back down and it felt so staggeringly good that Oliver involuntarily thrust up in response even as he scrabbled for the headboard, needing something solid to ground him and let him last long enough for Shane to experience her pleasure first. When she garbled something incoherent in his ear before clumsily kissing him, he tightened his grip and gave an experimental thrust, moving his other hand to the metal frame as well and marveling at the leverage he now had.

“Oh!” she gasped against his mouth. “Do that again!”

As ever, he gave her what she wanted and settled into a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts, while she rocked against him and squeezed, sending his desire spiraling ever higher, until his entire world was nothing but making love to his wife. She was moaning nonstop now, her fingers buried in his hair and her mouth demanding his, when Oliver spread his knees a little and pushed harder into her. Her resultant scream was nearly silent and she shuddered against him, making him preen a little with pure masculine pride.

_He_ had given her that pleasure.

“Oh, my God, you feel amazing!” she moaned, biting his Adam’s apple and smiling at the groan he was unable to suppress.

Then she uncurled her fingers from his hair and slid that hand down her body and Oliver stopped breathing, his eyes wide with shock as he watched her touch herself. When her fingers brushed against him, slick with her, shock skyrocketed into lust and he growled, bringing his own hand down and nudging her aside so he could touch her.

“Mine!” he rasped, his eyes boring into hers as he carefully stroked and rubbed, seeking only her pleasure now. She was moving with him, panting and moaning his name, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and when she frantically nodded against his neck, he was lost. He began moving again, letting his fingers find the rhythm of his hips, and dropped his head to kiss her. Their lips had just touched when she let out a cry of pure ecstasy and her entire body jolted as her orgasm rushed over her, drawing a broken scream of his name from her and complete stillness from him as he watched in awe.

She was the most glorious thing he had ever seen and he would never, _could never_ , get enough of her.

And he could no longer keep himself in check.

As the last of her aftershocks faded, he wrapped both hands around her waist and carefully turned sideways before bearing her down to her back and flexing his hips when she spread her thighs wider and wrapped one leg around him.

“Love me, Oliver,” she demanded, the blue of her eyes glowing with passion. “And let me love you.”

“God, yes!” he gasped in response, kissing her ravenously as he began to move, taking her hard and fast, and smiling as she claimed him in return, moving in perfect concert with him and encouraging him with heated words and fiery kisses, until he toppled over the edge into sheer bliss, crying her name and holding her tightly as he gave himself utterly over to her.

_With my body, I thee worship_.

When he finally came back to himself, he was sprawled on his back and she was cuddled into his side, her head resting on his heart and both hands holding his left one, her fingers stroking his wedding ring.

“Mmpf,” he mumbled, unable to articulate more than that, and smiled a little when she giggled in response.

“I love you,” she whispered after several seconds, drawing his hand to her lips and kissing his ring again before nuzzling her cheek into his palm and sighing in complete and utter contentment. “And that was amazing. How much rest do you actually need?”

He—

Wait.

She did delight in confounding him. But never let it be said that Oliver O’Toole did not give back as good as he got.

“Well, that depends,” he replied, using his free hand to tip her chin up so he meet her gaze. “I will be more than happy to see to you right now,” he continued, caressing her cheek and quirking his lips into a smile when she closed her eyes and purred, cuddling even closer to him.

“But if we’re putting the ugly green tie to good use, I’m afraid I will need some time,” he added, feeling a surge of arousal at the thought, along with (to his astonishment) a twitch of interest from his body.

“Hmm,” was the thoughtful reply, and then she tilted her head up and kissed him softly, lovingly, and so thoroughly that he couldn’t tell you his name when she finally released him.

“Then I am going to let you rest, Mr. O’Toole. We’re both going to need it,” she told him seriously, though her eyes were dancing with humor.

Oh, they were?

“Very well, Ms. McInerney,” he answered, working hard to ensure that his entire demeanor was that of deadpan composure. “But I hope you’re aware that ugly green ties can be used on more than one person.”

Her stunned silence made him grin in utter delight and he took full advantage, kissing her softly as he carefully shifted until he was on his side and she was tucked against him, their joined hands resting on her hip, legs tangled together, and so utterly entwined that it was impossible to determine who was who.

He had been dreaming of this moment for so long that the reality overwhelmed him and he bowed his head, thanking God for giving him this.

“I love you, Shane,” he whispered, bringing their joined hands to his lips and placing a soft kiss to her ring, marveling anew that she was his wife.

“I know,” she whispered back, turning her head to meet his eyes. “And I love you. Now rest, husband. And rest well.”

Oh?

“Because when we wake up, we’re gonna flip a coin to see who wears the ugly green tie first.”

Oh!

“As ever, Ms. McInerney,” he replied, fighting back his delighted smile, “your idea is impetuous, illogical, and completely lacking any kind of planning or forethought.”

This earned him a startled blink and he could no longer hold back his amusement.

“So I think we should enact it now.”

They both burst out laughing, feeling nothing now but joy and a lingering euphoria from finally coming together so completely, and simply basked in being together.

“Hmm . . . no,” she drawled, pressing a little more firmly against him. “Anticipation enhances the experience, after all.”

“That is true,” he agreed, loving the verbal foreplay. “But I’m still calling ‘heads.’”

She laughed again and he grinned, delighting in her, before giving a soft sigh and dropping his head to nuzzle her neck.

“Fair enough,” she chortled. “Now sleep, Mr. McInerney. We have some anticipation to be getting on with — and I might or might not have something with tiny buttons for you to play with.”

Oh, that little minx. She was going to drive him completely, totally crazy.

And he was going to love every minute of it. Oh, the plans he had for her . . .

“Your wish is my command, Mrs. O’Toole,” he replied. “After all, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of our life.”

“Yes,” she murmured drowsily, “Our life.”

And it was going to be _spectacular._

~~~  
 _fin_


End file.
